


wildest dreams

by dangercupcake



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, I want Mike Richards to have nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:59:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9874700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangercupcake/pseuds/dangercupcake
Summary: That could be a long spiral of dangerous thoughts, or Mike could go home and jerk off.





	

Mike left his phone at home when he went out to sit at the salt lick today. He doesn’t want to bother with it. Sitting in his favorite spot, legs braced, back against the straight trunk of the tree, head in the crook of some perfectly placed branches . . . he remembers when, at one point, he definitely needed his phone (or a GameBoy or a PSP) to keep his brain from going crazy through the long hours. He definitely remembers when he wanted Instagram to record what the deer looked like – not just to show off but because what if he never fucking remembered again?

Big bucks and pretty does and he’d have a shot a minute if he felt like lifting his rifle. Venison for months, for his family, for everyone, for gifts. Venison to stew, to smoke, venison jerky to eat through the summer. 

But right now he’s pretty content to sit in the cold and breathe in the smell of snow and watch them. He’s got his rifle, and he’s got a pistol, but he doesn’t plan to use either of them; he’s just there to be alone and sit. It’s nice outside and he’s an outdoor guy. It’s gonna snow soon, and he’ll get to walk back in the quiet, sounds of the woods all around him, sound of the snow coming down. It’ll be exactly what he wants.

It’s not going to be the sound of skate blades on ice, pucks and sticks and shouting, but it’s his next favorite thing anyway. Tied with the way a lake sounds when you’re out on a boat with a fishing rod, maybe, or close enough to it.

When the sun changes enough that Mike knows it’s time to go, he slips from the tree and starts the long walk home. He kind of wishes he’d brought his phone now, he could use more music and fewer thoughts creeping in about his knees. The real world, coming back at him. But sometimes when it’s just him and his phone, he’s really tempted to send texts his would never type otherwise; better to leave it alone and just try to think about other shit. The kids who still think he’s cool. The way coaching isn’t what he thought it would be and somehow doesn’t make him feel dead inside: thoughts still evolving on this subject, but he’s already admitted it to himself. The guy who’s sometimes at the bar by his brother’s house who looks at him with half a grin, like he knows who Mike is but what he’s really interested in is who Mike likes to fuck. Or, like, if Mike might want to fuck him. 

It’s been a long time since someone looked at Mike like fucking him would be more interesting than watching him play hockey.

That could be a long spiral of dangerous thoughts, or Mike could go home and jerk off.

It’s kind of amazing now, Mike thinks, that he gets a _choice_ , and isn’t just going to be miserable about not playing hockey all night. That still feels new and kind of . . . exciting. When he touches on it in his head. Not that it’s exciting to not play hockey, but . . . like . . . it’s just nice to not want to die when he thinks about it. Nice to not want to kill all those deer. Maybe that makes him a pussy asshole, but he doesn’t _feel_ like a pussy asshole. Like. Anymore.

He feels kind of great tonight, actually.


End file.
